Ulver

Shadows Of The Sun

Jester/The End Records




Scandinavian Metal is its own breed. From band to band, we never really know what to expect. This is never more apparent than on this record, one I really cannot make heads or tails of. Aside from the minimal back-catalogue of Ulver material I am familiar with, to me, this sounds like a concept record of some kind, or maybe even a soundtrack to some terrible melodrama. Equally appropriate at a funeral pyre or a 14-year old goth kid’s belated circumcision rite, this record offers up very little of anything. First track “Eos” sets the tone for the album, offering a slow-moving, drony bore with very elementary lyrics. Think if Tom Waits regressed 20 years, learned how to actually sing, picked up the ability to gracefully sustain his vocals, and sang lyrics written by any thriving new-metal vocalist (i.e. Aaron Lewis from Staind…), backed up by Silver Mt. Zion on three weeks worth of valium. Second track, “All the Love,” gives us a mere droplet in the still-pond monotony of the rest of the album. Instrumentation varies, vocals actually change in tone, pitch and volume, which ultimately all amounts to what sounds like it could be an unmixed demo of an outtake from Pink Floyd’s Division Bell. At this point, I found it meaningless to pay attention to the songs, as they casually drift into one another, creating the auditory illusion that this record might actually be one long uneventful song. As the record trudges through it’s lo-fi hum of noise, we hear some piano, possibly the use of an E-Bow, some background vocals that sound like a supermarket PA system, and a very out of place brass section offering for a few seconds, a jazzy touch to an otherwise bland and desolate soundscape. The best kept secret on this record—if you can get there—comes in the form of a long silence at the conclusion of the last track. Maybe Ulver thought the listener would hear this epic nuclear explosion of a record and would need 42 seconds of silence upon finishing it to come down from the inherent high this record would give them. This being said, the next time I am ass-naked in a wigwam sweating out the ounce of peyote I just ate, I really hope this record is there to guide me through my vision quest. That’s about the only place I can put this record. I can’t conceivably see it anywhere else, let alone in someone’s record collection—least of all, my own. I don’t think I have ever heard anything as downright boring as this. File under: “Naptime.” Bottom line, this record is a piece of shit, but don’t count it out yet, it could win a lifetime achievement at the Grammy’s for being the most non-climactic record ever.
-RTMA


Ulver / Jester Records

*Ed. Note: The contributors have spoken!